


Traditions

by breeisonfire



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Brothers, Gen, Secret Santa 2k16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9010585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breeisonfire/pseuds/breeisonfire
Summary: ‘Twas the night before ChristmasWhen all through the baseFive brothers were sittingFor once in one place.





	

**Author's Note:**

> SO for the Thunderbirds Secret Santa, I got @photowizard17 who asked for “TAG: A setting of all my boys.” I…sort of got carried away. This is what came out of that.
> 
> It’s sad, I’m sorry. Also it’s longer than I anticipated. Again, sorry.
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://drdone.tumblr.com).

_‘Twas the night before Christmas_  
_When all through the base_  
_Five brothers were sitting_  
_For once in one place._

That first Christmas after their dad had disappeared, the mood had been solemn. Scott hadn’t known what to do exactly, though their grandma had taken a gung-ho almost aggressive attitude towards spreading holiday cheer, to the point where she’d freaked Alan out and he’d hid in his room for several hours. It had been a rough season for rescues, too, with Gordon out in Four almost every day for a _week_ because of an abnormal increase in boat crashes before Scott put his foot down and asked the GDF to cover some of it. Grandma pretty much threatened John down from Five, dragged Brains out of his workshop by his ear, and forced them to have a meal on Christmas Eve.

It hadn’t gone well. Scott hadn’t really expected it to. They were still adjusting to the absence of their father and they were feeling it hard during this season.

That night, Scott hadn’t been able to sleep and he’d given up at around two in the morning, wandering out of his room. Nights were hard for him and when he got like this he liked to go downstairs and sit at his dad’s desk. It was the easiest place to try and feel close to him. Or, well, the easiest place on _Earth_.

He’d almost missed the small figure lying on one of the couches, until it had moved, scaring the hell out of him. It turned out that Alan couldn’t sleep either, and had opted to come downstairs. Scott sat down on the couch with Alan. They’d been quiet for a while, but then Scott had asked if Alan was okay and it had sparked a conversation, albeit a short one.

Not ten minutes later, Gordon had came down the stairs, too, and without acknowledging them at all, sat down on one of the other couches. Virgil came _up_ the stairs from the hangar and froze as soon as he saw them, looking guilty. And then, finally, John had came down, looking as awake as the rest of them felt. And after a while, they’d started talking about random things until at around three am, they’d hit that lull, that weird point in the night where everyone gets a little too honest and emotional.

Gordon had started it, reminding them that they hadn’t made the cookies their father had made every year. Scott had told him that their mom had actually been the one to start that tradition, and that the year after she’d died, their dad had tried to make them and nearly burned down the house. John had added that the year after had only gone better because their dad had decided to practice whenever he could, and by the time Christmas actually came, they were all so sick of the cookies they couldn’t eat anymore.

Alan, leaning against Scott, had fallen asleep sometime around five am, Gordon not long after him. For a while, it was only the older three, and they’d talked about other memories, older ones from Kansas, the ones the younger two couldn’t remember. And at some point, the three of them fell asleep, too.

They woke up the next morning to find themselves covered in blankets and mugs of hot cocoa sitting waiting for all of them. And the day had been a little easier for all of them.

The next Christmas, they’d all found themselves in the living room again. And so a new tradition was born.

This year, Scott came down the stairs at ten minutes before midnight, aching but too wired to sleep. They’d just come off a rescue not six hours ago, the aftermath of an earthquake, 6.8 on the Richter scale. It had been long, vigorous, _hard_ work, a lot of damage and a lot of lives lost. They’d finally made their way back to the island, sore and exhausted, and had gone their separate ways to clean up.

Scott knew that after hard rescues like this, they each had to take some time to unwind, and sometimes it took longer than others. So he wasn’t entirely sure if they were still going to end up in the living room for the night, but he thought he’d check anyway.

He shouldn’t have worried. Alan and John were already there, the former stretched out on one of the couches and the latter sitting on the stairs.

“Hey,” Scott said as he took one of the other couches. “How you guys holding up?”

“Ugh,” was all he got from the youngest. Which was a fair response, all things considered. At one point, one of the aftershocks had caused the building they’d been working into shift and partially collapse. Alan had been trapped with a few kids and part of the debris falling had hit the front of his helmet, cracking the front of it and knocking him to the ground. It’d done its job and protected him, though one of the paramedics on site had suggested he sit out for a while, just to make sure he wasn’t showing signs of a concussion. The kids he’d been with had made it out safe.

John just shrugged in response. It had been one of those rare times where John had been off-rotation and had tagged along. Not one of the better rescues to join in on, but John had handled it, at least until they’d gotten back. Then he’d vanished into the bathroom. The shower had ran for nearly an hour and a half. Then John had come back out, composed, though his eyes were still a bit red.

“Same as usual, then,” came Gordon’s voice, causing all of them to jump. Gordon was at the top of the steps, Virgil directly behind him. Virgil was moving stiffly, and Gordon was limping, but they made it down the stairs and joined them.

“You look like a robot,” Alan informed Virgil as he sat down gingerly next to Scott.

“You’re hilarious.” Virgil said flatly. “Remind me to laugh later.”

“Don’t even do it,” Scott said as Alan opened his mouth, knowing what was coming.

“Aw, but he set it up for me.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Just don’t.”

“You’re no fun,” Alan said, yawning. Scott had a feeling he wasn’t going to last very long through the night. He wasn’t entirely sure any of them were. It had been a long few days.

“Yeah, Scooter, you’re no fun,” Gordon said, propping his sprained ankle up on the arm of the couch he’d claimed. “I am phoning in for the rest of the week, by the way.”

“Me, too,” Virgil groaned. “If I can even move to _dial_ a phone.”

“Me, three,” Alan said. “Maybe the next two weeks.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Scott said, amused. John was grinning when Scott looked at him.

“It’s midnight,” Gordon said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Alan said. “Just a head’s up, Grandma tried to make the cookies.”

“Is _that_ what that smell is?” John asked. “I thought it was Gordon.”

Gordon flipped him off. Scott had to fight back a grin.

“Merry Christmas,” John said. “Lady Penelope has my presents for you guys with her. I was going to go pick them up, but…”

“The world went to shit,” Alan finished.

“Language,” Scott said. Alan just made a face at him.

“Merry Christmas, I went ahead and pre-made dinner, so we just have to keep Grandma away from the kitchen,” Virgil said.

“You’re a hero,” Gordon said. “Seriously, I may cry, I was planning on making a run for it. Or a walk, I guess.”

“More like a limp,” Alan said, then yelped as a couch cushion hit him in the face, courtesy of Gordon.

“Merry Christmas,” Scott said. “I’m just glad everybody’s safe.”

“You’re such a sap,” Gordon said. Alan threw the couch cushion back at him, scoring a direct hit.

“Yeah, well, this _sap_ actually made Dad’s cookies right before we left, so you don’t get any,” Scott said.

“What?” Gordon twisted to look at him, right as Alan hit him with another couch cushion. He flailed and fell off the couch, landing on his side. “Ow, what the _hell_.”

“You made Dad’s cookies?” John asked.

“Can we have some now?” Alan asked, catching the couch cushion that Gordon launched at him. “I don’t really remember what they taste like.”

“What?” Gordon said again, sitting up. All Scott could see of him was his forehead. “Scott, we have to remedy this right now, this is a tragedy. It’s blasphemous, you poor cookie-less soul.”

“Do you even hear the words that come out of your mouth?” Virgil asked.

“No, where’s the fun in that?”

“Hang on,” Scott said, shaking his head. He stood up and made his way to the kitchen, reaching up into one of the higher shelves where he’d stashed the cookies. They were in the old tin that their mom had always used to hold them. Scott had found it when going through the Christmas decorations and had cleaned it. He’d kept it in his room until he’d made the cookies when all of his brothers were out and distracted, then hid them.

He peeked inside, just to make sure Kayo hadn’t discovered them and ate them all. Only a few were missing, thankfully, so he carried the tin into the living room.

“Where did you find that thing?” John asked, wide-eyed. “I haven’t seen that since before - I mean, Mom was the last one to use that.”

“It was in with a bunch of other Christmas decorations,” Scott said. “I guess we missed it.”

He took a cookie and then passed it to Virgil, who took two and passed it down.

“Where’d you find the recipe?” he asked as he stared at them.

Scott, his mouthful of cookie, grabbed the lid of the tin and turned it upside down. There, taped down, was a notecard with their mother’s handwriting on it. Virgil stared at it for a long moment, then took the lid from him, his eyes wet. Scott pretended not to notice.

“ _Whoa_ ,” Alan said, his eyes wide. “These are good.”

“Good?” Gordon said, his tone scandalized. “ _Good_? These are the _best_ damn cookies on the planet. They’re not just _good_.”

“Are you okay?” Alan asked.

“I’m fine,” Gordon said. He took a big bite out of the cookie he was holding, looking mutinous.

“These are exactly how I remember them,” John said.

“They’re _amazing_ ,” Gordon said. He was looking at the cookie tin, sat in his lap. Scott couldn’t see his face, but he could hear how subdued he sounded. Scott could relate.

“Merry Christmas, guys,” he said.

He knew, in the morning, they’d wake up covered in blankets. The cookies would probably all be gone, but the tin would still be there. They’d have exchange gifts with the rest of their family, and then in a few days, John would go back up to Thunderbird Five and it would be business as usual. But for now, they were all together, and the pressure that Scott usually felt from the absence of their parents had eased, making it a little easier for him to breathe with his little brothers safe and whole. And _that_ was the best Christmas present he could ask for.


End file.
